Michael was still grumbling by the time Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around.
On Tuesdays, Ravenclaw shared the class with Slytherin. Hogwarts classes usually paired two houses, except for rare occasions—like a special astronomical event—when all four might attend Astronomy together. Sean picked up this tidbit from Michael's nonstop muttering on the way.
According to him, Defense Against the Dark Arts was the most popular class at Hogwarts. That got Anthony and Terry hyped to the max. Sean, trailing behind, just shook his head. Sure, the subject was exciting, but the teaching quality? That was a problem.
This crucial class had a rough track record: a stammering professor in year one, a fraud in year two, decent teachers in years three and four, a pink-clad magical toad in year five, Snape finally getting his wish in year six, and a Death Eater in year seven who persecuted students instead of teaching. So, out of seven years, only three offered solid learning.
Sean decided he'd teach himself.
He clutched Defensive Magical Theory, a fifth-year book he'd borrowed early, knowing he'd need it. Definitely not because it was free to borrow.
Once class started, any faint hope Sean had vanished. He knew Professor Quirrell had once been a brilliant Ravenclaw, but after becoming a two-faced host, he'd clearly lost his scholarly spark. Or maybe he just didn't have the energy to show it.
Michael, up in the front row, finally got why Sean had been acting odd. Sean had claimed a back-row seat and buried himself in his book before class even began. Michael, puzzled at first, was soon hit with a wave of garlic stench, paired with Quirrell's stuttering, slurred recitation of the textbook. It was like being in hell.
Terry, sitting closest to Quirrell, was frozen, possibly knocked out by the smell.
[Trolls are divided into three types: Mountain Trolls, River Trolls, and Sea Trolls. Mountain Trolls are the largest, with pale gray skin, bald heads, and hides tougher than a rhinoceros. Their strength surpasses ten men, but their brains are pea-sized, making them easy to confuse…]
Sean was deep into The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble. The book's cover was plain black, no text or designs, mirroring its concise, effective content. Banshees, ghouls, hags, trolls, vampires, werewolves, Yetis, Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, Hinkypunks, Grindylows—all crammed into its slim pages. Despite being packed with detailed knowledge on creatures and spirits, it still had room for counter-curses and spell-breaking techniques.
This was practical stuff, so Sean memorized it relentlessly. His only disappointment was that, given Quirrell's state, he'd likely learn no real defensive spells from him.
That meant self-study. But spells like the Disarming Charm or the Shield Charm were advanced, not found in Standard Spells: Grade 1. So how was Sean supposed to learn them?
As he frowned over this, Defense Against the Dark Arts ended. The young witches and wizards bolted from the room like they were escaping a curse. Michael and Terry, though, stayed rooted, looking like they'd transcended to another plane.
Sean approached, a bit worried, only for Michael to lunge at him with a dramatic yell: "This is torture!"
It startled Sean half to death.
Compared to Defense Against the Dark Arts, the next class—Charms—was something Sean actually looked forward to. Professor Flitwick wasn't some two-faced fraud; he was a teacher with real skill. He'd guide them on wand movements and proper pronunciation, exactly what Sean needed.
Sean knew a wizard's power came from belief—some in his past life called it "the power of vibes." But vibes alone weren't enough. Sean had learned that the hard way after a week of relentless vibing. His take? Belief was key, but how you channeled it and the methods you used mattered just as much.
As Adalbert Waffling, the father of magical theory, wrote in Magical Theory: "Most wizards can't control raw magical energy on their own. Spells and wands guide that energy to achieve a conscious purpose."
…
The Charms classroom was on the fourth floor, and the ever-shifting staircases were causing chaos. The Ravenclaws were stuck on one staircase, while the one to the Charms room refused to connect.
At the back, Terry was scribbling in a notebook. "I'm this close to cracking the pattern," he said.
Michael clutched his forehead. "Terry, I believe in you, but by the time you figure it out, we'll already be late."
With time slipping away and the staircase still unmoving, the young witches and wizards were antsy, like ants on a hot cauldron. This was their Head of House's first class, and the entire Ravenclaw group was about to be late—Merlin's beard!
Sean sighed and went back to his book. He couldn't control the staircases, so he might as well review the textbook.
"Alright, alright, squeeze in, Terry, we're counting on you," Michael said, grabbing Sean and pushing forward. Anthony and Terry followed, the four carving a path through the crowd.
"Any luck, Terry?" Michael asked.
"Almost… there…" Terry muttered.
"That's the fourth time you've said that! Merlin's stinky socks, man!" Michael was losing it, driven mad by garlic and staircases.
Just then, Sean spotted a tall ghost glide through the wall. An idea sparked.
"Grey Lady," he called softly.
The Ravenclaw ghost floated over, and the temperature around the little Ravenclaws dropped. "A ghost! Oh no!" some squealed. "She's coming!"
Most of the kids were more scared than curious about ghosts. They huddled together, even bold Michael trembling as he whispered, "Sean, what are you doing?"
"The prefect said the Grey Lady is Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter, remember?" Sean explained quietly. "Grey Lady, could you help us with the staircases? We're going to be late for Charms."
The Grey Lady didn't speak. She studied Sean for a moment—a look that nearly gave Michael and Terry heart attacks.
"Too close… too close…" Terry whimpered.
"Sean, this doesn't seem like a great plan…" Michael added.
But then, with a rumbling groan, the staircase ahead shifted, swiftly connecting to their platform. Michael and Terry's eyes went wide.
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